


Mainly made for...

by veyl



Series: 2018 Peapod McHanzo Week [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Fluff, Hanzo is not a morning person, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Night Terrors, Peapod McHanzo Week, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, hanzo's legs are prosthetic fight me, secret confessions, two fools one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veyl/pseuds/veyl
Summary: Hanzo shifts enough to be able to look back at him over his shoulder, tilting his head pointedly at the empty space he left in the bed.“For once be reasonable and just come over here.”





	Mainly made for...

“It’s bigger than I thought it’d be.”

Hanzo pins him in place with an unimpressed look just to watch him squirm, then walks the length of the room – the kitchen; the not very long length of the very small kitchen – to open a window. Streetlight pours in to play with the shadows on the walls, cold light that brings a shiver and a chill.

“Alright so it’s tiny, but look it’s got a bed and a roof.”

“It could certainly be worse,” Hanzo agrees, next pushing to one side a curtain that hangs from the ceiling; it squeaks along the rail as it moves, opening the kitchen into a bedroom. There is indeed a bed, one bed, as expected. “And it is only for a few nights.”

“Right.”

It’s clean. There are cracks along the wooden floor and tears in the wallpaper, but it _is_ clean. The bedsheets are fresh and the air in the room is light, faintly scented. Pine maybe? It’s small but it’s also kind of nice.

“You wanna take it?” Jesse asks from beside him. When did he get there? Hanzo might be staring at the bed, might be falling asleep on his feet a little bit. It’s been a long day.

“Yes, I do,” Hanzo tells him. Jesse mumbles something that sounds like “Alright” and disappears into the bathroom. Hanzo digs through his bag, changes into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Leaves Jesse to do the same when he’s done and takes his turn in the bathroom; this room at least is properly walled off. Small, like the rest of the apartment, but private.

He combs out his hair; it’s been a long day and it’ll be a long day again tomorrow. Sleep will be welcome, of course he will take the comfort of a bed. Jesse stands awkwardly next to the kitchen table, apparently considering the space on the floor as Hanzo pulls back the covers, takes off his prosthetics and curls up near the wall. There’s two pillows, only one comforter.

“Don’t suppose there’s an extra blanket here somewhere?” Jesse says, thumbing at the latch on his own prosthetic.

Hanzo shifts enough to be able to look back at him over his shoulder, tilting his head pointedly at the empty space he left in the bed.

“For once be reasonable and just come over here.”

Jesse does so, happily.

“Didn’t want to presume,” he says, leaving his arm on the floor near Hanzo’s legs and getting comfortable on his side with his back to Hanzo. “I mean I’m used to sharing; didn’t always have much choice if I were right honest and... you know. I’m fine with it.”

Hanzo is silent for a moment, pulling the comforter a little tighter around his shoulders. Jesse’s back is warm against his. “Genji used to sneak into my bed, when we were younger,” he says softly. “He would curl in beside me and steal the covers. Then, in the morning, I would wake up with bruises.”

Jesse barks a laugh at that. “Well I don’t kick, if that’s any comfort.”

Hanzo smiles, a little private thing to the wall he is facing. “I do not mind this,” he says. Then, teasing, “Besides, if I let you sleep on the floor, you would complain about it tomorrow.”

“Aw, you do care.”

“I am saying you talk too much as it is.”

“I bet you love it though. I bet you just can’t resist this southern drawl n’ charm of mine. Can’t fool me, I got y’all figured out, sugar.”

He lets out a small _oof_ when Hanzo’s elbow digs sharply into his back.

“Good _night_ McCree,” Hanzo says, tightly, like when he is trying to hide the laugh from his voice. Can’t fool ol’ Jesse, no sir.

“Night Hanzo.”

Three soft breaths and he’s out like a light. Hanzo, in the quiet that follows, shifts ever so slightly away.

It starts innocently enough, it always does, but as soon as Jesse floods his mind so do the guilt and the shame that like to push him out. Despite how tired he feels, his mind won’t let him rest; Hanzo tries one grounding exercise after another and grows increasingly frustrated when they fail.

It is unpleasant, like the comforter slipping off of him and leaving him exposed to the cool air when warmth is just a touch away. It is unpleasant like this closeness out of necessity, and because they are _friends._

It is better not to think it, of course. Worse would be to say it.

He sighs, exhausted, he’s been staring at the wall for so long it feels like it is staring back at him. His entire left side is numb. Careful to keep the slight gap between himself and Jesse, he rolls around and stares instead at Jesse’s back. He looks comfortable and so

so close.

Hanzo reaches out, fingers hovering above the softly rising and falling shoulder. He could – but he doesn’t really know what, doesn’t touch, draws his hand back. Instead he counts, exhale and inhale; concentrates on Jesse’s breathing, closes his eyes and tries to match it, slow, slow – slowly

until the tension starts to flows out.

He curls one arm beneath the pillow, the other against his chest. He breathes and breathes in Jesse; the scent of evening dust and rain on him, the leftover cedar-smoke and gunpowder, leather, sweat. It is thick on Hanzo’s tongue in this small space, so very intimate and loud. It follows him with heavy eyelids

into colourful dreams.

-

Jesse wakes first and is suitably surprised to find a heavy arm over his side and belly, a soft press against his back with a little damp sort of warmth between his shoulder blades. Through the haze of sleep he is aware of a single incoherent thought and then it’s all Hanzo, Hanzo holding him, Hanzo’s warm breath on him, Hanzo’s deep snoring.

_Well now, I’ll be damned,_ he thinks. He supposes the noise woke him up and ignores the urge to move, stiff from the position he’s slept in. _Damned to hell and back, lord help me but ain’t this nice._ He can stay like this for just a minute longer, _Hanzo don’t gotta know;_ it’s ungentlemanly of him, maybe, for he is sure that Hanzo is fast asleep or he would not be holding Jesse like this. _So very nice and what a shame it’ll be when he wakes up._

It feels right to lie in his arms. Like he’s supposed to be there, but Hanzo wouldn’t

he wouldn’t

if he was awake he would never

There is an abrupt snort from Hanzo and then his weight on the bed shifts; the arm and the warmth are gone, instead... a slow sigh and a palm of a hand smoothing the creases over Jesse’s upper back, fingers moving on to grip his shoulder.

“Get up, I know you are awake,” Hanzo says, voice thick from sleep. Jesse shoots up immediately, making space for Hanzo as he crawls off of the bed, re-attaches his prosthetics and stumbles over to the bathroom, bumping into the edge of a cabinet on his way. There is a muffled, pained noise from the other side as the bathroom door closes.

These are, of course, the symptoms of a man who hates being alive in the morning and Jesse should know; morning Hanzo back at the home base is not to be crossed until well after breakfast. Jesse goes about that as the sound of running shower starts from the bathroom, he picks up his arm from the floor and attaches it, then turns to the counter and sets out a pot to make coffee. There are some eggs in the fridge among the groceries they brought in yesterday; he scrambles them in a pan with some tomatoes and paprika, then throws in four slices of bread to toast. By then Hanzo is done with his morning routine; he accepts a plate gratefully as he passes Jesse on his way to the kitchen table.

“Sleep well?” Jesse asks between bites. Hanzo says, “Do not speak with your mouth full,” taking a sip of his coffee. Jesse chews obediently then opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue once he’s finished swallowing.

“Better than expected,” Hanzo says.

-

Work takes over the next couple of days, setting in quickly, making sleep just sleep and it doesn’t matter

until it does.

Their small bed creaks and wails in the near dawn of the fourth day, dipping and straining as Jesse tosses and turns in his sleep. The movement makes Hanzo stir and blink bleary eyed at the ceiling before shooting up into a sitting position as the sudden anxiety beats in his chest; he thinks, in that first moment, that they are being attacked. The sight of Jesse does little to quell the fear in his heart, he is entirely entangled in their comforter, drenched in sweat, features pinched in a grimace as he kicks, desperate to get away from it as if it is the physical extension of a nightmare his mind had conjured up for him.

Hanzo adjusts his position and leans forward, voice cracking under the sleep-heavy thickness as he calls Jesse’s name, trying to pull him away from the confines of the dream as well as remove the suffocating comforter from his neck and chest area. He catches his arm, entangling his fingers with Jesse’s and adjusts again to avoid getting kicked.

He calls him and this time Jesse responds, though when his eyes open they are faraway from this room. Hanzo makes him lie on his side, still holding his hand, and talks softly; gently coaxing Jesse back into the present, patient and understanding through the curses and tears. He guides him through a breathing exercise until Jesse has stopped shaking, then reaches out to touch his shoulder, his cheek; feather-light touches meant to comfort and console.

“Fuck,” Jesse manages through a shuddering breath. He babbles and whines, pressing his face into the mattress for a moment before looking back to Hanzo, breathes out a little strained through his nose and blinks through wet eyelashes, furrowed brow cutting deep lines as he squeezes Hanzo’s hand once, a point of grounding, a safe presence. His mouth twitches and he stares intently at Hanzo; Hanzo rubs his thumb over Jesse’s knuckles in encouragement.

“Can I hold you?”

The burst of warmth in Hanzo’s chest, quite in contrast with the cold worry he feels at this strange – but then, not so strange – request is near overwhelming. His grip on Jesse’s hand tightens for a moment and then he lets go entirely, and gives a slight nod, letting Jesse scoot a little closer to wrap both of his arms around him. Hanzo’s arms find way around Jesse’s shoulders; one hand at the back of his neck, the other gently petting down the hair at the back of Jesse’s head as Jesse, face buried in Hanzo’s chest, seems to go over the breathing exercise again.

“So,” Hanzo says dryly. “Not a kicker.”

Jesse chokes out a laugh and holds him a little tighter.

The early hour of the day falls over them like a heavy blanket, carried in with the first birdsong. Hanzo sleeps before the morning light touches through their window; he’s kept Jesse safe as long as he could, through the night and against the fear until at last weariness whispered over his eyes. Now Jesse lies awake, watching over him instead. He mumbles into Hanzo’s hair the secret confessions and the sweetsong of his heart. In the faintest sound Jesse is awake, unapologetically close, because that

that is the only time, between the lines and the dust that he can be.

He watches Hanzo sleep, the worried lines on his face, and talks quietly to the still dark; the truths and shame that never make it to morning.

-

“I’m sorry about, uh, yesterday,” Jesse says, scratching at one flushed, bearded cheek.

They are making pleasant conversation, though there is a soft redness, a weariness under Hanzo’s eyes that Jesse keeps staring at until the thing scratching at the back of his throat makes its way out of his mouth.

“You should not apologise for it,” Hanzo tells him. “Although I understand you might want to and why.”

Jesse fidgets, then gets up to get dressed. “Alright. Then thank you. For getting me through it.”

Hanzo glances back at him and says, “You need not thank me, either.” He gives a small smile. “But you are welcome.” Hanzo knows, just as Jesse does, that this polite exchange is an obvious follow-up to the last night’s tight embrace. No need to read too much into it, into any of it.

Then, for some incomprehensible reason, Jesse is grinning at him.

“Wouldn’t mind sleeping like that every night.”

“Perhaps you should invest in an extra pillow,” Hanzo tells him. He’s still in bed, picks up the second pillow now to hug it as an example.

Polite exchange, of course, is all that it is. And maybe he wishes it weren’t just that, but so what?

“I’m just sayin’. It’s nice. Not the,” Jesse pauses, grimaces, moves on. “But waking up next to someone.” He’s saying a bit of nonsense so he shuts up, puts on his hat instead.

“At least buy me dinner first,” Hanzo says, turns over to lie on his back and yawns. He should get up soon. He thinks that and brings up a mental checklist and it’s a full minute before he realizes Jesse’s gone strangely quiet.

Jesse, in fact, is staring at him when he looks back.

“What.”

“Sorry darlin’. Were you serious?”

“Should you buy me dinner?” Hanzo asks. “Yes absolutely.” Because it’s free food, not because he gets to go with Jesse, _of course._

Jesse seems to consider this. Then, almost shyly, “We could make it a date?”

A beat passes. Maybe two. Hanzo blinks up at the ceiling; a beat too long, certainly.

“Sorry that was- I weren’t thinkin’– ”

“I would enjoy that.”

Jesse stumbles over his words a bit, one hand resting on the top of his hat, holding it in place. As if anything inside the room is likely to make it fly off.

“Would you, darlin’?”

Hanzo looks at him, soft and surprised to surprised and wary. He says,

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the two wonderful peas, [AughtPunk](http://aughtpunk.tumblr.com) and [wyntera](http://wyntera.tumblr.com) for hosting [Peapod McHanzo Week](http://aughtpunk.tumblr.com/post/168134863531/because-no-one-else-is-hosting-a-mchanzo-week)!
> 
> Sorry for butchering this ❤ I'm tired


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